


Stolen

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, hard to say, possible dubcon warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was only supposed to look, that’s all. Post-Waters of Mars and pre-Doomsday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stolen

He doesn’t have enough time to process why he shouldn’t.

He sees the rock see-saw back and forth before it falls, tumbling down the edge of the cliff and heading straight towards one Rose Tyler—Rose Tyler, who is talking animatedly to her mum on her mobile while also haggling at the nearest jewellery cart. Rose Tyler, who has paid zero attention to the uneven cliffs above her, and is oblivious to the rock heading straight for her skull.

He moves before he can stop himself. He catches her around the waist and yanks her backwards as Rose gives a startled yelp into her mobile phone. “What—” she begins just as the rock hits the desert sand at her feet.

She blinks at it in confusion and then twists her neck around, squinting up at him while Jackie’s voice squawks loudly out of her mobile phone. She mouths “thanks” at him and then says into the phone, “Sorry, mum, got to go.”

She flips her phone shut and it’s only then that he realizes he still has his arms around her, tucking her awkwardly up onto his side. He lets her go immediately and she stumbles a little, frowning in confusion. “Good job you were here,” she says, now eyeing the rock, “I thought for sure you would be combing through that junkyard for another half hour yet.”

All he says is, “You should pay more attention to what’s going on around you.”

Without another word, he turns and strides away. He’s not sure why he’s so surprised when she follows him—jogging slightly to keep up with his long paces.

“You’re just in a foul mood ‘cos we’ve been shopping for two hours without running for our lives,” she tries in a teasing voice.

“No,” he bites out, whirling around. He isn’t even sure _why_ he’s angry with her, but his heart is pounding too quickly and his hands are shaking. “I am, in fact, ‘in a foul mood’ because _you_ almost cracked your skull in two.”

Rose comes to a startled stop, looking baffled by his tone. “I suppose I didn’t notice—”

“There are signs _everywhere_ , Rose!” he snaps, saying her name for the first time, and it hurts to draw in his next breath. He points to one next to the jewellery stand. “‘Beware Falling Rocks’ and you—you were just _standing_ there, talking on your mobile like.... like a....”

He doesn’t know how to go on and Rose’s expression is growing more and more startled and worried. “Like what, Doctor?” she whispers, in that hushed voice that tells him that he’s touched on some nerve, some hidden insecurity that she has tucked away. Her voice rises. “What was I doing that was so wrong, just _standing there_?”

He steps back and jams his hands in his pockets, breathing hard. He doesn’t answer. How can he possibly explain how _easily_ her timeline could be twisted? If he hadn’t been there, if it had hit her, if the damage was too extensive for even the TARDIS to repair....

“You should be more careful,” he finally settles on, after a moment.

She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip, studying him quietly. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” she says simply. Seeming to consider the matter resolved, she falls into step beside him and they continue on in silence.

The collar at his neck feels uncomfortably itchy and he takes surreptitious glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You don’t want to go back to shopping?”

“Nah,” she says with a shrug and then shoots him a grin. “I’d rather be with you anyway.”

She nudges his shoulder and then holds out her hand, frowning when he doesn’t take it. He grunts in an ambiguous way in the hopes that will convince her to return to haggling so he can slip away unnoticed.

It does not.

“So did you track down that part—that helo-whatsit for the TARDIS?”

“The what?”

“You know... to fix the environmental controls?” She turns her head to squint at him, searching his face like she knows something is off but isn’t sure what. “Are you alright?”

He thinks about gushing water— _the laws of time are mine and they will obey me_ —and the crunch of snow underneath his feet after Adelaide disappeared to kill herself. He thinks about three knocks and how he’s willing to try nearly anything to extend his time a little longer—outrun his end a little faster.

“No,” he finally says softly. Rose’s eyes widen in surprise, but they’ve reached the TARDIS. He hesitates for a second, but then pushes his key in the lock and turns the handle. The door creaks open, blasting them with a gush of cold air.

“Blimey, I don’t remember it being this cold when we left,” she says, rubbing her arms. She pauses, clearly not sure what to say. “I could... how about some hot cocoa? That’d be nice, yeah?”

“No ta.” He tosses his coat over the nearest strut and turns back around in time to catch the crestfallen look on Rose’s face. He feels some of his resolve melt away. It’s his fault that she’s here now—caught up in the mess he’s made of himself. What he _should_ do is direct her back to the market, tell her some modified version of the truth, or in the very least wipe her memories before he makes the situation worse.

It’s what he _should_ do, but it isn’t what he _wants_ to do.

“Doctor,” she says, and now she sounds like she’s barely holding back tears, “tell me what’s wrong.”

Giving in, he closes the distance between them and reaches for her hands. Rose lets him, watching him with barely concealed confusion. He holds her hands in both of his, fingers pressing over her knuckles. “Nothing,” he finally lies. He squeezes her hands, trying to look his most sincere. “I’ll be alright. I....”

Rose turns her gaze up to meet his, unconsciously licking her lips. “Yeah?”

 _I miss you_ , he thinks in reply. _I’m sorry for this._

Instead he acts on instinct, leaning forward to kiss her. Her lips are warm and chapped and he pulls away quickly before she can respond. “Is that alright?” he whispers.

She holds his gaze, eyes searching his. “Yeah.”

He isn’t sure who moves next, but they kiss again, gently at first. He sucks at her bottom lip and her hand comes up to tangle in his hair, body involuntarily pressing closer to his. His arms go around her waist and her bum hits the console with an uncomfortable oomf.

His hands slide down her back and he presses closer, kisses becoming more heated. She’s wedged up against the console now and inside his head, the TARDIS drums in warning. But he pushes her out of his mind, instead focusing completely on Rose. His hands dip under her shirt and he touches warm skin, fingers tickling and sliding up her back and then her sides. She wiggles and moans against him, her teeth nipping his bottom lip. He concentrates only on _her_ , on good it feels.

His fingers brush her bra strap and that’s when she pulls away, fingers still in his hair. She looks flushed and a little bit nervous. She tries for a smile. “That... that was new.”

He kisses the corner of her mouth and her eyes flutter closed, her fingers curling against the back of his neck. It tickles and he smiles. “Good new?”

“Yeah.” She turns, pressing her face into his neck. He slips his hands out from under her shirt, sensing her need for a hug. He holds her quietly for a few seconds, and then she says, “Must have been some revelation you had in that junkyard.”

“Something like that.”

She pulls away and _looks_ at him, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. He holds her gaze, trying to seem as earnest as possible. Like it’s only another day between them—like he routinely snogs her up against the console in the TARDIS.

Finally, she swallows and asks, “Do you want... bedroom?”

“Oh, yes.”

Her response is a giddy smile and they both relax slightly. “Mine?”

He opens his mouth to agree and then remembers—Rose hasn’t lived in that bedroom, not for years. That room holds nothing but dust and an unmade bed, now.

He shakes his head. “Mine.” Rose’s eyes widen slightly, like she doubted he even had a bedroom. “Sometimes I get tired!” he protests and her eyes light up. “Just... one thing first—”

He leans forward, purposely leaning over her as he fiddles with buttons and levers on the console. He yanks up on the handbrake. “Time vortex,” he explains, as the TARDIS groans to life.

After all, it certainly wouldn’t do if his younger self unexpectedly came across them.

***

He doesn’t use his own bedroom very often—especially not lately. Without a companion onboard, there’s no need to stop for rest. He can go and go—save planets from fire breathing Pikulas, name a galaxy Allison, drop in to local cultural parades, and even have tea with royalty. But for the first time, he feels well and truly exhausted. It is, in fact, a relief to stop running.

Of course, now he’s running from something else entirely—his own timeline.

Worse than that, though, he’s lied to Rose. He’s let her think he is someone else—because he knew he could, because it was easy, because he’s missed her and he wants her and he has so little time left.

The word “kidnap” flits through his mind, even as he helps Rose peel off her clothes. Both their hands are shaking, fumbling with zippers and buttons. The first time is rushed and harried—neither of them saying much as they fall to a quick climax. The second time is more languid and he keeps Rose giggling as a silent apology, pressing kisses to her nose and chin and throat as her fingers twine in his hair and tickle the back of his neck.

If she suspects that something isn’t quite right, she doesn’t let on.

Afterwards, Rose Tyler lays exhausted in his arms, her head pillowed on her shoulder and her fingers tracing lazy circles across his chest and over his neck. She yawns, eyelashes fluttering open and shut like she’s actively fighting off sleep.

He nudges her temple with his knuckle, thinking about what has to come next—she can’t remember this, not for years. Maybe not ever.

He’s not even sure he wants her to.

She smiles at his touch and it makes him feel ill. “This is a dream,” she whispers.

He catches her hand and makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat. “Rose Tyler, that was far better than any dream.”

“I suppose,” she says and then squeals when he tickles her in the side. “Not bad for a bloke pushing a millennium, anyway,” she says, tongue between her teeth.

“Oh, thank you, that was the perfect thing you could have said.”

His finger catches on her hair, twirling a blonde lock between his fingers and she watches him sleepily, forcing back her yawn. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

 _All the time_ , he thinks to himself, but he forces a smile for her. “Time Lord,” he responds.

“You look tired,” she says, touching his face with the pads of her fingers. She almost pokes him in the eye, but then she taps the tip of his nose. “I’ve never seen you look so tired.”

She looks so worried that for a second, one breathless, horrible second, he’s positive that she _knows_ , but then she pulls her hand back, looking a little sad. “Even Time Lords need sleep,” she states like the topic is resolved.

Her voice is heavy and he realizes that she’s already half asleep herself. He shifts in an effort to make her more comfortable and she unconsciously curls into him, one of her hands coming up to rest on his shoulder. Her breathing evens out, but still, she fights to hold her eyes open.

“Rose,” he says, and he tries not to let the heartbreak show on his face, “you should get some rest.”

Her eyes are shut. “I’ve just... I’ve got this bad feeling, yeah?”

“What sort of feeling?”

She’s quiet for so long that he thinks she really _has_ fallen asleep, but then she says, “It’s stupid, but I feel like... like you’re gonna be gone when I wake up.”

He swallows thickly. “Never.” He pauses. “Not for the universe.”

“‘K,” she says in a fading voice, oblivious to just how true his words are. “Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“I just want you to... I...” she breathes out, but then rushes to say, “I love you.”

He shuts his eyes against the words and lowers his forehead to press against hers. He stays quiet, letting the seconds tick by, the room seeming to grow quieter and quieter. Finally, his mouth feeling dry, he whispers, “I love you.”

Her lips curl into a smile and then—at last—she lets herself drop off onto a heavy sleep. He lies still, quietly, unwilling to move in case he wakes her... in case she really does get _some_ idea of what he’s done to her. Finally, he brushes her temples with his fingers and she doesn’t stir. He holds his hands there, hesitating, before finally lowering them again. He _can’t_ —he can’t erase this moment for her—this _amazing_ , wonderful moment that she gave him because he needed it.

He shifts onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He can hear the TARDIS in his head again—now more of a rage than a warning. Rose has to go back to her proper time—she has to go back _right now_ and she can’t remember any of this.

Because if Rose Tyler does not make it back then she never stops at home to bring Jackie a bezoolium and drop off her laundry, and if she never stops back at home to visit Jackie, she never goes to Torchwood and falls into the Void. Her entire future—his past—rests entirely in his hands, right now, right here.

But if he keeps her with him, eventually it will get more difficult to right her timeline and she’ll start asking questions, she’ll want to see her proper bedroom. She’ll figure it out—she’s not stupid, Rose Tyler. And he remembers with crystal clarity what that knowledge did to Adelaide Brooke. In keeping Rose with him, he might destroy her.

He rolls back over and lifts his fingers to her temples. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s that Rose’s safety is more important than his personal happiness. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes—and takes the memory away.

Five years ago in his past and four hours in her future, he’ll wake her on a park bench next to the local open market and she’ll yawn in his face before sheepishly admitting that all the haggling must have worn her out. It was just a kip, she’ll say, smile wide, fingers curling around his as he tucks a battered part for the TARDIS under his arm.

It will be years later before he thinks of that moment again.


End file.
